


21st Century Crib Notes

by AdamantSteve



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Dysfunctional Relationships, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Secret Relationship, Steve is totally DTF, spite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil gets tired of Clint's refusal to acknowledge their relationship. When an offer arrives from the unlikely source of Steve Rogers he sees no reason not to take him up on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	21st Century Crib Notes

**Author's Note:**

> Clint is a huge asshole in this story, and Phil kind of is too. Check the end notes for spoilery info of what to expect. 
> 
> This could be read as a follow up to that fuckbuddies story I wrote a few days ago but this was actually written before that and isn't a direct sequel.
> 
> Beta read by Dunicha.
> 
> NOTE! DTF means 'Down To Fuck' as popularised/coined (?) by the fine people of MTV's Jersey Shore.

"Go back to the circus, Clint," Phil says dismissively, tossing a pair of underpants at him.

"Fuck you, old man."

 

-

 

Academically, Phil understands Clint's reluctance to label whatever it is they’re doing. It makes perfect sense for him to not want to 'pin it down', giving it a name and thereby making it real and a thing that can end. It makes sense, but it still hurts. 

 

It shouldn't even make a difference. As Clint is so fond of saying, they’re spies, so what's one more lie? Even Phil's family thinks he’s single, and technically, he is. He’s been 'technically single' for going on three years now. He tells himself, and mostly believes, that it doesn’t matter. That he'll take Clint however he can get him. But still. Even if it’s an argument they've had before, they keep on having it. 

 

So, when Steve Rogers, someone who Phil is still no good at managing his reactions around, especially when Steve looks intensely at him in that way of his, asks him if he’s seeing anyone, instead of explaining the question away, he just says, "No."

 

-

 

"No, I'm not seeing anyone."

Steve looks surprised. But yeah, they are spies and they lie for a living. It's hard to lie to Captain America. 

"Oh," Steve replies, his rosebud mouth a perfect little 'O'. It's been a bad day, another stupid argument with his not-boyfriend and the reiteration that no, they aren't in a 'relationship', _Phil_. It's just friends having fun. 

"I just have fun with friends sometimes," Phil says, and Steve smiles, like that's some twenty-first century thing he's not completely caught up on yet. 

"We're friends, right?" Steve asks, and Phil realises he's been staring at Steve's mouth for too long.

"Sure we are Steve." He swallows and blinks, like he's coming back online after a manual shutdown. "Why do you ask?" 

Steve looks at his hands and for the briefest moment, worries his bottom lip. "We should... do something fun some time." 

Phil stares at him again.

"We should," he agrees, and it takes him til he's back in his office to fully realise that Steve Rogers just asked if Phil was DTF.

 

-

 

Ordinarily it's the kind of thing he'd have taken to Clint, but Clint's always had a thing about Steve, and Phil's attachment to Steve, and so he doesn't bring it up right away. But apparently whatever it was that Phil said that had him so pissed off that morning is still pissing him off, because he doesn't text or call that night nor the one after. They don't ask after one another or check in or any of that stuff, cause Clint gets all pissy when Phil does that. And he realises he has no one to tell. No one who would quite understand how hilarious it is, anyway; he’s not about to tell Tony Stark.

 

Steve texts Phil a few days later, and Phil would kill to know where he got this idea from, whether it was episodes of Jersey Shore or some other heinous TV show, or just Stark giving him his version of crib notes for 21st century life. They text back and forth and it's ever so polite, til Steve asks if Phil would come over perhaps, or if Steve could go there instead. 

 

Phil looks around and imagines Steve there. "Sure," he replies, and not twenty minutes later, there's a knock at the door. 

 

Steve's brought flowers, because he's Steve fucking Rogers and he's seen some questionable romcoms. Phil laughs so hard that he has to usher Steve inside to close the door, since it's past midnight and he doesn't want to wake the neighbours. Steve follows him into the kitchen where he trims the bottoms of the stems and sets them in a vase with water, and he can't help the tiny asshole voice in his mind telling him that Clint's never brought him flowers. Never brought him much of anything.  They're white chrysanthemums, probably from a gas station on the way over considering the hour, but Phil is so thrilled by them, at how they're like this little beacon of intent coming from this guy standing right behind him, who's gorgeous and polite and, you know, Steve Rogers. 

 

When he's done and the flowers are standing in their vase, Phil takes his time turning around, since he's really not sure what he's meant to do now. With Clint it had all started in that post-mission ‘holy fuck we're actually alive!’ thing and then had gone on from there. It's never been so much a booty call as Clint turning up half drunk or injured or smelling like other people. And Phil always lets him in. But Steve rests a hand on the edge of the kitchen counter and Phil, when he turns that way, gets a face full of Steve's chest. They both pull back enough for Phil to look up and see Steve's face, and Steve, for all he looks like he's in mission-mode, asks softly. "Can I kiss you?" 

 

Clint's never asked. Clint just does. He does whatever the fuck he wants, Phil thinks, nodding and then tipping his head where Steve gently tugs his chin up. There's a second where Phil thinks about the first time he kissed Clint, all the blood and the way his ears were still ringing and how there'd been shrapnel still in his leg, but then it's gone, smothered by the soft lips Steve is pressing to his. 

 

It progresses rapidly, and Phil wants to ask where Steve learned it all, what he's been doing and with whom, but they're soon in the bedroom and Steve has Phil's cock in his mouth and he can't ask why, he's too busy asking for _more_. 

 

Afterwards, when Phil's had Steve's cock in _his_ mouth and lived out a fantasy he's had since he was thirteen years old, they're lying side by side on the bed, not touching. Phil can't stop looking at the drawer that hides a pair of jeans and a couple of tshirts, the three-pair of purple socks he bought for Clint which he sometimes wears around the apartment when he's there. He feels bad, but not at what's happened so much as how _not_ bad he feels about it all. He feels so vindictively pleased with himself, so excited at having done what he just did. Other people want me, he thinks, spiteful pride blooming in his chest. People that bring me flowers and ask for what they want instead of just taking it. 

 

Steve leaves a little after 4am and Phil lays back and listens to Steve's bike til he can't hear it anymore, and he's not sure how to feel. 

 

-

 

Clint comes out of the woodwork the next day, putting his feet on Phil's desk and asking if Phil's seen the latest episode of Game of Thrones, which is pretty much code for 'let’s get takeout and then have sex'. When Phil says yes, he has seen it, Clint frowns and shakes his head. "What?"

It's that, after everything that's happened, which has Phil suddenly reeling a little. "Yeah, I saw it. It was great." Because they can't ever just talk about things with their true terms, that's not how Clint works. 

Clint plants his feet on the floor and stares at him. "Who did you see it with?"

Phil busies himself with setting the pencils on his desk perpendicular to the computer monitor as he answers, "Steve." 

Phil's almost proud of the hurt sound Clint makes before he storms out, but as the minutes turn into hours of reading emails and not really seeing them, that pride starts to feel a lot like guilt instead. 

 

It's not his job to make sure Clint Barton doesn't stay on the range for too long. Nor is it his job to make sure he doesn't go out drinking. It's not his job, period, as SHIELD liaison or as 'friend'. 

But still, he checks in on the range and is worried when Clint's not there. It's not his fucking job to be worried, but he is.

 

He goes home and tries not to think about it. It's only fair, he decides, since he's sure Clint's never lost sleep over being an ass to him. It's childish and it leaves him feeling a little raw inside, like he's licked a penny or gotten an electric shock. But that makes him angry, angry that Clint even has that power over him. And it's that useless anger that drives him to text Steve. 

 

He regrets it almost as soon as it's sent, but Steve responds and then he's there, and Phil can't believe he can just make that happen. He drags Steve into the bedroom, pulling at his clothes til they're both naked and he can really take in just how much bigger and better Steve is. 

 

Steve starts slow, and it's all so tender and sweet that Phil starts to feel sick, so he pushes back and starts fucking himself on Steve's cock. He just wants to be used the same as Clint uses him, quick and dirty and satisfying. "Hold me down," Phil whines, and then Steve finally gives in and does it, puts his weight on Phil and fucks him hard just like he asked. And it's perfect. It's exactly what he wanted. 

 

Steve leaves again, and Phil's asleep before he even hears the bike pull away.

 

He wakes up again when there's a banging at the door. Clint's standing there with a bottle of malt liquor in his hand and he barges in as soon as the door's open. Then he just stands there, swaying a little with his face trying to work out what expression to show. "You. And then you fucked the other one. But you wanted this one and it's not fair," he drawls. Phil gently takes the bottle away from him and guides him to the couch, but when he's leaning over him, Clint reaches for him and pulls him in. "Mine," he says, and Phil grits his teeth. 

"You don't want me," he shrugs, pulling Clint's hands off of him and standing up.

"Yes I do," Clint replies, and it's so indignant and hurt. Phil just stands there. 

 

"You can't have your cake and eat it, Clint," he says, and he knows from long, tiring experience that it's useless trying to reason with drunk people, but he has to say it, and they don't otherwise get much of a chance. Clint shakes his head. 

"I never. That. No! Because it, you have to have the cake first, see? And then you get to eat it. It doesn't make sense, Phil. I want to eat your cake. And have it. Why'd you have a cake if you aren't gonna eat it?" 

Phil heaves a sigh. "It's an expression. The cake is meant to be really beautiful so you don't _want_ to eat it, you just want to look at it. But you also do want to eat it cause it tastes good. But you can't have both."

"Could eat half," Clint reasons. Phil laughs depsite himself, a harsh puff of air, but it makes Clint grin. 

"Like making you smile," he says, and then Phil hates himself again. 

He feels like he's ready to punch a wall or cry or both, so he blinks hard a couple of times before finding a blanket to cover Clint with. 

 

"M'sorry, Phil," Clint says, already falling asleep. 

"I'm sorry too," Phil replies. He straightens the bed before getting back into it, listening to the soft sounds of Clint snoring in the living room before he eventually falls asleep.

 

-

 

Phil fully expects Clint to be gone when he wakes up, since he often is even when they sleep in the same bed, but he's in the kitchen doing something with the coffee machine, and Phil can smell bacon under the grill. 

"We should talk," Clint says to Phil's questioning look, which just turns it into a shocked look instead. 

 

"Did you really fuck Steve?" he starts with, when they've sat down and eaten. Phil takes a deep breath before squarely looking Clint in the eye. "We sucked each other's dicks and he fucked me." 

Clint pushes the soggy remains of a fried tomato around his plate and nods. "Was it good?"

Phil thinks about it before he nods. "It was nice to feel wanted."

Clint looks at him before trying to explain. "It's hard for me, Phil."

"What is?" 

"Just... fucking..." Clint tips his hands up in despair. "All of it! I don't know how you do all this shit!" He gestures with the fork to _everything_ , the two of them, the apartment, their lives. Their not-relationship. A tomato seed lands on the handle of Phil's mug of coffee and they both look at it. 

"No one does. I don't." 

"Well how..." Clint looks at him, hopeless, and Phil looks back at the tomato seed, rubs it off with a thumb before scraping it onto the edge of his plate. "See? I'm fucking shit at this." 

 

"What do you want?" Phil asks. "Because that's all it really is, Clint. It's you deciding what you want and me telling you what _I_ want and then we figure out if the things match. And then we either stop whatever this is, or we define it," Phil points a finger at the table on 'define', an echo of an earlier conversation where Clint had said he didn't want to stick a pin in it like their relationship was an insect to be catalogued, "and keep doing it. I can't be in limbo anymore, Clint. It’s crap. It hurts." 

"It doesn’t seem like it hurts that much." 

 

Phil shakes his head. "You told me yourself you didn't want to be exclusive, Clint."

Clint looks away and Phil feels the bitterness and anger rising up inside. "No, Clint. What, now I'm actually seeing other people it's a problem? What about the last three years, huh?! Three years I've watched you flirt with every person you meet! I've watched you make out with them, go home with them, come in with fucking hickeys on your neck. Three years I've put up with that and you've never wanted it to be anything til now." 

Clint's face has shut down and he looks at his hand on his own coffee mug, his jaw pulsing. "Well what do _you_ want?" 

"I want you!" Phil cries, breathing heavily. "You can see other people, I don't care. But don't deny that I exist. Don't say I don't mean anything to you. That's what hurts. If it means nothing to you  then tell me and let me get on with my life."

"With Steve?" 

Phil looks at him and huffs. "I don't know. Probably not. I have no idea. I'm just tired of this." 

 

They're silent for a moment and Phil thinks maybe they're done, that nothing's been resolved and he'll still probably let Clint in next time he comes knocking. But then Clint says quietly. "It's scary." 

Phil nods. "I know." 

"No, I mean it's scary that... I mean I don't really care about _anything_. But I care about you." 

"I care about you too, Clint," Phil sighs, because it should be, it is, self evident. 

"So uh... I guess I wanna keep caring about you?" 

Phil laughs. "Well you can't hurt my feelings all the time if you care about me." 

"I'm sorry." 

"I'm sorry too." 

"It's stupid, we're fucking superheroes. Why is this hard?" 

"Cause it's important." 

"So's saving the world." 

Phil shrugs and they both laugh, and god, how Phil's missed that sound. "I love you, you know." He’s said it before really parsing it properly, but then it’s out and it’s done.

Clint nods. "Me too." And then they look at each other with weird expressions on their faces. "Wow," Clint says after the silence has dragged out too long. "What are we meant to do now?" 

"Um..." Phil thinks about it and isn't sure what to say. "We go on a date?" 

Clint wrinkles his nose. "Really? That's what you want?" 

"It's a start. We've never really been on one."

"I guess we kinda skipped that." 

Phil nods. "Yeah," he says pointedly.

 

"Can we make out?" Clint asks, and it's so sweetly hopeful. Phil nods again and takes Clint's hand when he holds it out, hauling him up and off to the couch, where they do make out, like it's important.

 

"Are you mad about Steve?" 

Clint breaks away from where he's sucking juvenile bruises on Phil's neck to kiss his cheek instead. "No." When Phil looks at him he he pulls back and thinks it over. "He's your dream guy. How could I be mad?"

"But it made you realise you want me?" 

Clint shifts and leans back to pull Phil's shirt up. "It made me realise how it must have been for you? I don't know. I think it just made me realise that was it. That you were done with me, with... this. And I don't wanna be done with it." 

Phil looks over him and smiles. "I don't either." 

"I mean, you can still..."

Phil feels his eyebrows crawl higher and Clint laughs. "You can still hang with Steve. He was telling us about his special friend the other day." 

"Oh my god. What did he say!?" 

"Just that he likes some things about the modern day." 

"Shut up."

"Seriously!" 

"Wow." 

"Yep. You're Captain America's fuckbuddy."

"Oh god." 

They grin at each other. 

"I'm Captain America's fuckbuddy." 

"Hell yeah you are." 

"I wanted so badly to tell you about it, Clint. When he first brought it up." 

"Wait, Steve asked you?"

"Well yeah." 

"Steve. Asked you for no strings sex." 

Phil shrugs again. 

"So, what now? Can I join in?"

Phil thinks of the image of Clint and Steve making out and gets impossibly hard. "Holy crap. Maybe?"

**Author's Note:**

> So Clint and Phil are essentially fuckbuddies, though Phil wishes it were more. It's all a secret from everyone. They argue about it and when Steve of all people asks if Phil's down to fuck, he says yes, because it's Steve Rogers and he's feeling spiteful. They have a bit of a thing together and then Clint gets jealous when he finds out.  
> However! It's all a catalyst for them sorting themselves out into a more agreeable relationship, so it works out in the end.
> 
> If you are interested in reading the threesome hinted at at the end, I previously wrote the three of them together [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/470927) It's not exactly this dynamic but the three of them do get it on.


End file.
